


Working Stiffs

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 01:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11347365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Colton and Spender grouse about being left out of a certain treaty and eventually the eventual happens.





	Working Stiffs

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Working Stiffs by Drovar

21 September 1998  
Title: Working Stiffs  
Author/pseudonym: Drovar  
Email:   
Rating: NC-17ish  
Fandom: XF  
Pairings: Colton/Spender (echhh, I know)  
Date: 9/7/98  
Website: The Ferret Cage  
URL: http://www.ferret-cage.com/  
Summary: Colton and Spender grouse about being left out of a certain treaty and eventually the eventual happens.  
Category: Slash-Humor  
Warnings: Ferret and (gee exactly what kind of animal metaphor is appropriate for Colton - Wildebeest? Wart hog? Skunk? Wallaby? (Nah, too cute) Anyway, contains lots of naughty words (Spender has a potty mouth), and a little bit of other sort of naughty stuff; so if you are under age, just what the heck are you doing here anyway?  
Disclaimers: Not appropriate for anyone really. Stay away if you're a kiddy or easily offended.  
Notes: A wholly unauthorized, unaccepted, unrepentant, amoral and thoroughly valueless sequel, of sorts, to (the wonderful!) 'Vacation by DBKate' featuring Tom Colton and Jeffrey Spender... I'm sorry... Halrloprillalar made me; actually she just dared me to do a Colton/Spender story; but if I had said no she might have double-dared me, or even double-dog-dared me.   
Obviously I wouldn't dump this on any poor beta-reader so any and every glitch and blemish is mine. Really this is just a homely (if slightly comical) puppy of a story. Enjoy it for what it is!  
Oh and Hal? Thanks for Spender's nickname!

* * *

"Fuck" . . . 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck . . ."

"You said that already."

Jeffrey Spender tossed the sheaf of papers across the room at Tom Colton and threw himself backward onto the bed. He clasped his hands over his face and let fly with a short but creative string of sharp anglo-saxonisms.

Colton sighed and carefully bent down and retrieved the crumbled pages. He tried not to move too much, it had taken him forever to get the numerous leather straps into positions where they didn't bind or catch on sensitive spots. Tom Colton hated slash.

He started to sigh, again, a long full-breathed sigh this time, but stopped inhaling when a strap suddenly rode up on his chest and chaffed madly at his left nipple.

"Character/Author Treaty of 1998," he read aloud, while massaging his sore nub. "All slash characters appearing in more than twenty stories a year," he continued. "Are now allowed one week's vacation, starting August 25th of this year." Spender's reedy voice chimed in miserably near the end.

"A week," Spender sputtered from the bed. "A whole fuckin' week. And we have to pick up the slack." 

Colton shook his head carefully as Spender dissolved into another tirade. This one was fairly creative, calling into question the heritage, gender, sexual-preference, intelligence, and creative ability of just about every slash-writer Colton had ever heard of. 

"This isn't fair," Spender whined. Colton dropped the treaty, hand signed by the 'big five', onto the cheap hotel desk, and carefully stepped across the room. Spender had at least gone to the trouble to strip down to his skivvies. Tom noted the thin chest and underdeveloped musculature with a decided lack of interest. South Dakota wasn't looking so bad right now.

"Come on Spender," he said as he pulled the closet door open. "We've got to get you into your work clothes if we're going to get through this." Spender moaned again. Colton knew he was going to hear that retched little groan in his sleep tonight, if he got any.

He began rummaging through the closet looking for Spender's outfit. He was sure the cleaning service had delivered it that morning. He had to hand to the slashers; they were nothing if not efficient. He passed over a series of police, paramedic and fireman's uniforms, as well as a large section of crisp white lab coats, before feeling hard leather in his hands. He pulled the heavy outfit from its place on the rail and looked closely at the arrangement of buckles, stays, and straps. 

"Efficient and twisted," he muttered to himself as he pulled the stiff leather ensemble out of the closet. 

Colton tossed the assorted black leather garments onto the bed, where they landed with a loud rustle and scrape. The thing with all the buckles slid off the pile and into Spender's side. Spender, who had been moaning into his hands again, peeked out, ending up nose to buckle. His expression changed from a sort of dumbfounded 'What the fuck?' look to one of total dismay.

"I am not wearing that."

"Yes, you are, Jeffrey," Colton replied.

Spender hopped off the bed brushing the black-strapped and buckled thing away with disgust. He strode across the room and picked up a small stack of computer printouts from a table near the window. Colton noted with a sour awareness that Spender's flat ass failed to move in any manner that could vaguely be described as interesting. Bright sunlight pouring in from the window glared off Spender's pale skin; it was nearly blinding.

"Who wrote this load, anyway?" Spender asked. He flipped quickly through the pages, pausing at times to read and snort derisively. Spender flopped down in a chair, flipped back to the beginning and began reading more slowly.

Colton picked the black leather strapped and buckle laden thing off the floor and held it up for a good look. What the hell was it anyway? It looked like some sort of large halter or something. The buckles alternated with the clasps and were obviously meant to allow the garment to be cinched tight . . . very tight. Colton threaded a strap through a buckle. He pulled the strap tight, and closed the clasp. He tugged at it, testing its hold and enjoying the feel of the taut leather under his hand. 

The boots were mid-thigh length, black, of course, nearly paper thin and just as supple. He had a momentary vision of Spender as a Nazi brown-shirted thug. Spender's face close to his demanding unpleasant and submissive acts. Colton shook his head, again feeling the tight straps clenching across his muscles. Where the hell had that particular vision come from?

He looked up at Spender, who was now thoroughly engrossed in reading the story, their story. His eyebrows were making little twitchy arches as he read. Colton's gaze drifted lower. He was surprised to find ample evidence, tenting Spender's boxers, of how and why he got his nickname. 

//Big Spender, indeed.//

Colton looked down at the leather outfit and then back up at Spender. Maybe this evening wasn't going to be a total waste after all. He gathered up the outfit and quickly crossed the room.

Spender looked up his reading; his eyes seemed to take a long time to focus on Colton and his bundle of fetish-wear. "I told you, I'm not wearing that," Spender said. "No way, no how, uh-unh. Forget it." Spender turned back to his reading, shifting slightly in his chair, his legs spreading just slightly, while studiously ignoring the man in front of him.

"Really?" Colton asked. He dropped to his knees in front of Spender and slowly slid his right hand up the other's leg, ruffling the short, almost colorless hair. The skin was surprisingly smooth and soft. Spender remained focused on his reading betraying no reaction though he did shift his position again. Colton watched fascinated, as Spender moved, his cotton covered crotch rolled heavily.

Colton shifted his hand from Spender's leg to his boxers and was rewarded with a small jerk, and a long gasp, a near moan, from the other agent. He could feel the hardness through the thin cotton. For a moment he thought he could feel Spender's blood pulsing through the solid flesh beneath his hand. 

"That is most definitely not in this story, Tom." Spender said. Colton only leered back in reply. He set the thing with the buckles beside the chair, and ran his hand softly over and around the tented boxer. Colton eyed Spender speculatively. "Is this in there?" Colton grabbed and squeezed, hard. There was a stunned quarter-second of silence then an explosive flurry of action. Spender yelped and literally climbed out of his boxers, arms and legs failing and kicking ineffectually as he clambered up the back of the chair. The printout fluttered through the air, landing on the floor in a smooth cascading chain of pages.

"You fucking bastard," Spender spat from his precarious perch. "That hurt."

Colton tossed Spender's boxers away, grabbed the leather buckle thing and thrust it into Spender's chest nearly toppling him off the chair. 

"Put it on," Colton said, emphasizing each word by jabbing the stiff garment into Spender's chest, trying to avoid being distracted by 'Big Spender's' free-swinging namesake. "Do you know how many visits I manage to DC in a year?" Colton demanded. "None, that's how many." He stepped closer, bringing himself nose to nose with Spender. "I'm not wasting it arguing with you over what clothes your going to wear."

He locked eyes with the younger man, almost daring him too look away. "Do you have any idea how cold South Dakota is in the winter, Jeffrey? And just how long and lonely those winter nights can be. Do have any idea what it's like to know that every writer and reader in the fandom universally despises you? Do you?" Colton realized that he was shouting at this point, his body practically pressed against Spender's, he could feel the other's cock leaning, heavily, against his own leather clad thigh.

"Yeah, sort of." Spender replied, as he shifted his weight leaning slightly forward, his cock sliding up Colton's leather sheathed leg.

"Really?" Colton asked huskily, placing his hands on the chair arms, and letting the buckled thing fall into the chair between them.

"They don't call me Weasel Boy, Ferret Boy, and Squeaky because they fucking like me, you know." Spender said. He placed a hand on Colton's chest, running a finger slowly along a taut leather strap until it found a nipple and began to circle slowly. 

Colton looked down at the hand on his chest, finding the other man's touch not so subtlety arousing. Spender's hands were large, Colton realized, large and out of proportion with his body. He was put together like a disjointed marionette, thrown together from various parts that didn't really match but were glued together regardless. The resultant jumble was somehow inordinately appealing.

Colton gasped slightly as Spender's lone finger became a complete pinching and squeezing hand. He put his own hand on the back of Spender's neck and pulled him into a hungry, possessive kiss. There was a momentary resistance from Spender that quickly dissolved into full-bodied response. Colton could feel Spender wrap his arms around his upper body, pulling him close and leaning heavily and precariously into the kiss.

When their lips finally broke the lingering kiss Colton Ran his fingers through Spender's hair, feeling oddly more affectionate than aroused. There were worse things than loneliness, or so he had been told. He silently helped Spender down from the chair and led him to the bed. He ran his hand down the shaft of the other man's rigid cock and stroked the back of his balls gently. Spender began to sway slightly, in rhythm, his eyes closed. 

Colton pushed Spender gently down to the bed as he began snapping and unstrapping his own outfit. 

//Maybe there was something providential in all this/// Colton thought as he released several more straps. //Two mongrel souls, wandering in the darkness, that's us. Too lost and alone to even know that the light is out there, somewhere.//

He slid down next to Spender, running a hand along the lean hips and chest finally resting once more on the back of his neck. He pulled him quickly into a second, longer and gentler kiss.

"So," Colton said eventually. "Still wish you were on vacation?"

Spender stared at him for a short moment and then broke into a lecherous grin. "Nah, let'em play, there's work to be done."

* * *

Mulder clicked [send] and closed the cover on his laptop. The Sun felt good, and just as warm as the sun hovering over any pristine foreign beach. He really didn't know what the others were complaining about. He looked across the pool, toward the deep end where there was considerable splashing going on. "Hey Walter," he called, "more than two minutes and the brain damage is serious you know." Skinner shrugged, and released a sputtering, swearing Pendrell. The assistant director fled the pool cackling, with an extra pair of swim trunks in hand. Mulder sighed, and leaned back in his lounge. Vacations were the best.

Drovar  
<Who holds all others blameless for this>


End file.
